Page 6

Dimitri Volkov

The broken little sunbeam shows her wisdom and resilience as she accepts my knife and stands. Only the strong know how to rise after being cut so low.

Even with her jet-black hair and burnt-umber eyes, she resembles a fairy dancing among rays of sunshine with her delicate features and petite frame. Her elegant beauty wars with the misery shining from her dark eyes, and I long to make her whole.

“If you touch me, it will mean war,” she says.

Spoken with no heat, her words ring with truth. My respect for her grows as she maintains eye contact with me, a feat very few men would dare.

She’s gorgeous. Even with her hair pulled back and a heavy layer of makeup on her face, her full lips and expressive eyes call to me on a level I thought was dead long ago.

Guilt sweeps through me. I will not lust over a woman so soon after my wife’s death.

“He was not alone,” I say with a gesture to the dead man. “You cannot stay here. Come with me.”

Her pupils shrink as she works through the news of other men coming for her. She glances toward the buildings but swings her attention back to me. A frown mars her perfect features.

“I can’t leave without my purse. I need my phone and ID,” she says.

The dead man’s partner will not be far behind. I need to get her far away from here before he arrives so Yerik can trail him when he leaves.

I shake my head.

“There is no time, and I cannot leave your side,” I reply.

Her gaze shifts behind me. She stiffens and looks ready to call out but stops and lifts a brow in question. I glance behind me. Yerik rolls the dead man into a blue tarp and cinches the ends. I turn back toward Camilla as he hefts the tarp onto his shoulder and launches it over the wall.

Despite the questions burning in her eyes, she stays silent for a few moments, highlighting how different she is from other females.

Yes, she ran like a scared little rabbit the first time she saw me, but I murdered a man at her feet. Since then, she’s shown a level of control in her responses most men only dream of having, and her resilience despite the pain lurking in her eyes is unlike any I have seen before.

I want to protect her. Not just because it is my duty, but because I long to see her healed and healthy. I yearn to see her vibrant and vicious.

The power is there, hidden underneath her pain and suffering. I will coax it out of her, piece by piece.

She stuns me with her bravery as she rolls her shoulders back and says the one thing I don’t expect in the most unyielding tone a woman has ever taken with me.

“Then come inside with me. I will not leave without a way to contact my sister,” she says.

I pause, finding her choice of words odd.

Why would she invoke the thought of her sister instead of her brother?

I decide it doesn’t matter as I consider her proposal.

It isn’t ideal. If my brother is watching her through the security footage the facility no doubt has, then he will know I am in the United States.

He will know soon anyway.

I am not hiding. I will marry Camilla Vivaldi.

I cannot start relations with her family if I deny her access to her phone. Maybe contacting her brother through her is the wisest method.

I nod my acceptance of her suggestion. She swallows and glances behind me before nodding in return. I watch her closely, uncertain of her next move and entranced by her expressive eyes.

She shocks me again by looking down at herself and striding to the fountain with all the grace of a princess, as though she wasn’t just huddled in the grass vomiting.

As she dips her hands and arms in the water and dries my knife on the front of her sweatshirt, electricity zings down my spine and pools in my balls.

I inhale long and slow through my nostrils as she tucks my knife into her waistband, the thought of the blade I’ve carried for over a decade now resting against the bare flesh of her hip more profound than I believed possible.

My cock hardens as she pulls her sweatshirt over her head, wets the cuff in the fountain, and wipes the blood off her neck.

Her curves are pure sin. High, pert breasts. No bra needed. Her stiff nipples poke at her t-shirt even through the loose material. Although baggy and at least a size too big, her sweatpants can’t hide her narrow waist and the slight flare of her hips.

I can’t force myself to look away.

As she dunks the sleeve of her sweatshirt deeper into the water, she glances up at the top of the fountain.

The black circle of a camera lens sits in the recesses of the design, but since the stone is white, it stands out. When she flicks her eyes toward me, I can’t decipher whether she means to warn me of its existence or if she hopes to convey her predicament to the person hidden behind the camera.

As I step forward, she ducks her head and wipes her face with her sweatshirt. Goosebumps rise on her nape. A breeze ruffles through the trees.

I washed in a water spigot not long ago. The weather was much cooler than here, but she is not acclimated to the cold, and with her lower body weight, she must be more susceptible to the chill.

When I’m certain the camera can see my face, I stop, unwilling to frighten my little beam of sunlight by moving too close. She has too many clouds eager to snuff out the brilliance in her eyes.

After scrubbing her face, she wrings out the sleeve, turns her back to the camera, and takes a few absentminded steps away from the fountain—straight toward me until she’s within reaching distance—before tying the sweatshirt around her waist. When she looks up, my heart stutters behind my sternum.

Her face is more stunning without the makeup. Sure, her waterproof eyeliner and mascara remain in place, but without all the fake contouring and supposed enhancements, she seems softer. More delicate. More like a gentle fairy.

Thin white scars sit in neat rows on her left cheek, stark in the bright morning sun.

I read her completely wrong. She wasn’t warning anyone. She wanted to hide her unpainted face from the camera.

Her eyes widen and the color drains from her features as she realizes how close we are, but despite her discomfort over my nearness, she doesn’t panic. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. A blush darkens her cheeks, making the scars stand out more.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going, and I didn’t hear you move closer.”

Her voice only slightly wavers. A shiver wracks her spine.

I unzip my jacket and shrug it off. She leans away from me, but I reach around her and settle the thick fabric onto her shoulders.

Her nostrils flare and pupils shrink, but she pulls the ends closed around her front and clears her throat.

“Thank you,” she says.

I pull the pack of children’s bandages from my pocket, pop it open, and pull the top bandage out before returning the case to my pocket.

She stares in wary disbelief as I tear open the packaging.

“Do not move, so?lnyshka ,” I murmur.

She becomes eerily still as I lean closer, but her frantic breaths ghost over my knuckles as I smooth the bandage onto her cheek, covering the scars. Unable to curb my curiosity, I rub my fingertips over her soft skin, and to my delight, she doesn’t evade my touch.

Tears shimmer in her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. I step back and stick the wrapper in my pocket before gesturing for her to lead the way into the building.

The inside matches the opulence of the garden, and despite the underlying hint of cleaning agents, the place overall smells of lavender. Less than five steps into the building, a woman in a nursing uniform approaches Camilla.

“Is everything okay?” she asks as she gives me furtive glances over Camilla’s shoulder.

“Yes, I just forgot my purse in my room,” Camilla says.

The nurse looks unconvinced.

“Is he with you?” she asks.

Camilla nods.

“What’s his name? Is he signed in?” the nurse presses.

Camilla tugs my jacket tighter around her and shakes her head.

“He’s not signed in, but I’ll call my guardian as soon as I get my phone.”

While I appreciate her avoiding telling the woman my name, she doesn’t need to, but her caution endears me to her more.

The nurse clues in to the warning in Camilla’s tone and turns her full focus on her face.

“Did you get hurt in the garden?” she asks, obviously referencing the colorful Band-Aid on my charge’s cheek.

“I’m fine, Nurse Shelly. Honest. This is the right thing to do,” Camilla says.

After searching her face for an extended moment, the nurse nods but doesn’t step aside.

“Then you won’t mind if I tag along, right?” she says.

Camilla looks over her shoulder at me.

“We will not mind,” I answer.

I have visited many elite medical facilities before and rarely encountered a nurse so invested in her patient’s safety. When we pass the front desk, I realize she isn’t the only staff member keeping careful watch on the people in their care.

Whoever admitted Camilla here chose wisely. A part of me wonders if taking her away from this place is the best idea, but despite all this security, she still required my protection today.

I will take her with me.

Nurse Shelly walks beside Camilla, no longer sending me hostile glances as she greets other patients in the hall, showing how much she trusts Camilla, but when we reach the room and Camilla takes her purse off the hook by the door, she gives the bag a pointed look.

Camilla takes out her phone and types out a text before holding her screen out for the nurse to see.

The contact shows Serenity Vivaldi.

I’m leaving the facility. I’m safe. I’ll call in 30 minutes.

As the nurse nods, I take the phone from Camilla, find her brother under the contact Giorgio Vivaldi, hit send, and put it on speaker.

I fight a surge of desire as Camilla aims her dark eyes at me.

Giorgio answers on the third ring, his voice rough and his breathing fast as though he was doing something strenuous.

“Camilla?”

“This is Dimitri Volkov. Camilla cannot stay at the facility. I will take her with me. She will be safe.”

Giorgio murmurs a command to someone on his end of the line. A video icon flashes along the bottom of the screen. I press accept, aim the camera at my face, and angle my body so Camilla and the nurse show in the background.

With sweat dripping down his temples and a black t-shirt stretched over his shoulders, Giorgio rips the strap of a boxing glove off his wrist with his teeth and shakes the glove onto the floor before taking his phone from whoever is holding it.

“What’s going on, Camilla?” he asks.

She steps closer to fit better in the frame but avoids touching me as she addresses her brother and head of her family.

“I’ll explain what happened later, but for now, just know I’m leaving with him because I think it’s the right thing to do. He’s not forcing me to go,” she says.

His eyes narrow on the bandage.

“I don’t like this. Let me—”

“No, Giorgio. He brought me to my phone even though we need to leave right now. I’ll call you again soon,” she says.

The command in her tone hardens my cock.

“Does Serenity know?” Giorgio asks.

“I texted her,” Camilla replies.

“Call her first as soon as you get somewhere safe,” Giorgio says.

Camilla nods. Giorgio shifts his hard eyes to mine.

“I’m trusting Camilla, not you. Do not turn off her phone. I expect a face-to-face meeting within twenty-four hours,” he says.

“Da, that is acceptable,” I say.

When he quirks a brow and turns his gaze back to Camilla, she leans forward and mashes the end call button.

The lightly fruity scent wafting from her almost distracts me from the thin white scars on her inner arm. Not expecting her to voluntarily get so close to me, I crane my neck down to meet her gaze. Her breast almost brushes against my arm.

She steps back and holds out her hand for the phone. I place it on her palm.

“You have thirty seconds to gather anything you may need,” I say.

After half a second of consideration, she grabs a larger purse, stuffs a pair of clothes and her already loaded purse inside, grabs a fresh set of sweats from the stacks, and offers me both the bigger bag and my jacket.

Disappointment rolls through me, but I take both items. She looked good in my clothes, even though the jacket isn’t my style. As she heads toward the bathroom with the clean set of sweats, the nurse pulls a small radio from her belt and speaks into it as she steps into the hall.

Camilla meets my eyes as she swings the door shut between us. She stops before the latch clicks, leaving it partially open.

I stride across the room and stand with my back facing the door, giving her privacy while ensuring no one enters.

A few seconds later, she turns on the sink but quickly shuts it off and twists the doorknob. She swings the door open and pauses until I move toward the hall, unblocking the walkway.

After slipping her socked feet into a pair of white sneakers, she grabs her phone charger from the bedside table and takes the bag from me.

The colorful bandage on her cheek fills me with bittersweet emotions. I gesture for her to lead the way.

“Are we going out the way we came or through the front?” she asks.

“The front,” I answer.

She nods.

I follow her down the hall, staying vigilant with every step as my mind calculates the time since I murdered the man in the garden.

Nurse Shelly calls out for Camilla and emerges from the office behind the front desk.

“This should cover you for about ten days. Try not to skip any doses, okay?” she says as she hands a small, clear plastic bag with several pill bottles inside to Camilla.

Camilla nods and tucks the bag into her purse.

The worry in her eyes darkens her irises to almost the same color as her pupils as she glances at me.

She isn’t embarrassed about receiving the medicines, but her pride demands she walk out the front door with her head held high and her shoulders back. I skirt around in front of her before she can exit and motion for her to stay in the lobby as I check the drive.

When nothing seems out of place, I gesture for her to continue, and as she walks past me, her gentle scent teases my nostrils.

Every second I spend with her is another moment I fall deeper under her spell. I cannot let the little beam of sunlight into my darkened heart. She threatens to uproot my loyalty to my late wife.

Camilla Vivaldi may become an obsession if I am not careful.

I must protect her. Marry her. Heal her.

But I cannot let her infect my soul.